


It's All So Heavy...

by AllHallowsEve



Series: Wincest Colored Glasses [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Emotional Confrontations, Episode: s02e02 Everybody Loves a Clown, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self Loathing, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 21:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHallowsEve/pseuds/AllHallowsEve
Summary: The brothers aren't handling the loss of their father well at all.  Sam tries to fix it by talking and Dean is having none of it.  They try to distract themselves by going up against a killer clown.S2E2 as seen through Wincest colored glasses.





	It's All So Heavy...

**Author's Note:**

> This one is pretty heavy and painful folks (but what else is new right?). It is a stand alone story, as are all in this series, but it mentions story elements from the last one quite a bit. These work best when read in order.
> 
> As always this is unbeta'd so please be sure to point out any mistakes.

The brothers stood side by side in the dark, lit only by the flickering flames, as they watched their father’s body burn.

Sam’s tears flowed freely, while Dean hid behind a hard mask.

Just when Dean’s own tears began to gather, Sam asked, “Before he…”

He swallowed hard and tried again, “Before he…”

Sam still couldn’t manage around the pain and guilt weighing heavy on his chest. 

He gathered himself enough to get out, “Did he say anything to you?”

Dean was pulled out of his own pain, by his brother’s. 

The tears were causing Sam to sniffle and his voice was thick when he finished, “About anything?”

The tone in Sam’s voice was so reminiscent of hundreds of times that he had come to Dean, in the aftermath of his Dad making him cry as a child, climbing up in Dean’s lap to be consoled, or looking for the truth from his older brother when he could tell his dad was lying to him.

Dean closed off his own tears and went into _protect Sammy_ mode.

Dean stood stone faced, looking at the fire and lied outright.  “No.  Nothing.”

A single tear slipped quietly out of his eye and dripped onto the ground in the darkness, and with it, his belief in a happily ever after.

Sam spent the next week trying to give Dean time.  He knew that Dean was hurting, could tell in every hunched motion of his shoulders, in every instance of his face going dark until Sam looked at him and then suddenly a smile appeared to hide Dean’s pain. 

Sam tried not to hover, tried not to ask too often if Dean was okay.  But it was eating away at him.  He knew that Dean didn’t like to talk out what was bothering him, never had, even as a kid, but it was hurting Sam to know how much pain Dean was in, and to have him bottle it up and not share it. 

It also hurt because if Dean didn’t want to talk about it, that meant Sam didn’t get to either.  And Sam needed to.  Bobby was good to talk to and had been there for him this entire week, but it wasn’t the same. 

It didn’t help that only a week prior Sam had confessed his deep unyielding love for Dean, and his brother had no knowledge of it.  It haunted Sam’s nightmares.  He went from dreaming that his brother did hear but was so repulsed that when he woke up out of his coma he beat Sam senseless and left him by the side of the road, to the extreme opposite, that Dean had heard every word and had replied in kind and that they had kissed and decided they would share their lives together, together, together, but then he awoke to the harsh reality of that not being true.

He was a mess and he needed his brother.  Needed him in every way and wasn’t able to have him in any way.  Dean had spent the entire week since they had burned John’s body, working on his beloved Impala.  Sam had known it would be good for him, and wanted him to have that, and the time to deal with his Dad’s death, but it was hard, feeling so isolated away from Dean while he was only a matter of yards away.

Sam woke up one morning and couldn’t take it anymore.  He walked slowly out to the part of Bobby’s junkyard where the Impala had been towed, and asked tentatively, “How’s the car coming along?”

Dean’s one word answer, “Slow,” told Sam everything he needed to know, but he couldn’t walk away. 

He asked Dean if he needed any help, but his brother just made a snarky quip about Sam’s lack of car skills.

Sam knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but just wasn’t ready to go back in the house without trying to engage further.  “Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and barely glancing up at Sam before saying curtly, “Stop it Sam.”

Sam stood a few feet away from Dean, watching as his brother worked with tools and parts on the makeshift table nearby.  Dean told him to stop asking if he needed anything, to stop asking if he was okay.  He said in exasperation, “I’m okay.”

Sam’s silence informed Dean of his disbelief. 

Dean finally turned his head, but not his body, and looked at Sam, saying emphatically, “Really.  I promise.”

Sam just couldn’t let it go, he tried not to be confrontational, attempted to keep his tone soft, but said to Dean’s back, “We’ve been at Bobby’s for over a week now, and you haven’t brought up Dad once.”

It sounded, even to his own ears, much more of an accusation than he had meant.  He just wanted Dean to talk about his feelings, and Sam’s desperation made him needy.

Dean surprised him, turned and looked him in the eye, saying with what sounded initially like sincerity, “You know what?  You’re right.”

Dean’s tone turned deep and it made Sam’s stomach flip flop when he said, “Come here,” and motioned for Sam to come closer.

But then Dean continued, “I’m gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we could cry and hug, and maybe even slow dance.”

Sam’s temper flared.  It was a pissy thing to say under the best of circumstances, but the fact that Sam would love nothing better than for what his brother had just described to happen.  That he longed for each part of it, needed it so badly, he felt some days he would die due to never getting to have it.

Sam’s anger started out small, as he said, “Don’t patronize me Dean.” 

But then the fact that Dean had just nullified everything Sam felt, everything that he was agonizing over made Sam lash out harshly, “Dad is dead.  The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this. And you’re acting like nothing happened.”

Dean turned back to the car, and then faced Sam, his tone flat and defeated in the face of Sam’s anger, asking, “What do you want me to say?”

Sam continued his tirade, his voice ramping as he went.  “Say something, alright? Hell, say anything!”

He asked incredulously if Dean wasn’t angry, he didn’t know how Dean didn’t want revenge.

Sam was so confused by his brother, he knew that emotions were hard for him, but he had expected rage, maybe going off in a self destructive way or something.   Dean and John had always been closer than Sam, and his death had hit Sam hard, so he knew that Dean had to be suffering.  But Dean had shown him nothing outwardly.  If he hadn’t been watching his brother like a hawk he would have thought a stranger had died, not their own father, by the way Dean had been behaving.  He angrily accused Dean of doing nothing but hiding out working on the car.

Dean knew how to get to his brother.  He knew Sam was well versed in handling anger, had been weaned on it by John all his life.  So instead Dean harangued Sam with sarcasm, made his voice drip with it.  Telling his brother he would love revenge, but they hadn’t found any signs of the demon and had no way to kill it because the Colt, was in fact gone, and they had nothing from John to give them any clues of any kind to point towards what he knew about the demon that they didn’t.  He finished by saying, “The only thing I can do, is I can work on the car.”

It seemed to deflate Sam.    

Sam collected himself and with a small level of chagrin showing, informed Dean that he had decoded one of John’s phone’s voicemails and let Dean hear it.  It was a woman named Ellen, telling John to stop being stubborn and let her help him.  It had been left four months ago, but John had saved it this entire time.  It was enough to pique Dean’s interest so they got a loaner from Bobby and went to find the mysterious Ellen.

Sam couldn’t help but enjoy watching Dean’s discomfort driving the minivan Bobby had lent them.  There was something undeniably ironic about his cool and hard edged brother pulling up to what looked like a biker bar, driving a sputtering lumbering vehicle made for large families and soccer moms.

The brothers walked up to the Roadhouse and tried the door, calling out hello but no one seemed to be around.  Sam threw Dean his lock picking kit and Dean made quick work of the front door.  The place was deserted except for some poor dude passed out on a pool table in the back.

Sam went off to look in the kitchen and Dean went towards the bar.  He didn’t hear anyone approach but suddenly felt a gun in his back.  He made a joke defensively saying, “Oh God, please let that be a rifle.”

The woman behind him gave a sarcastic retort after cocking her gun, “No, I’m just real happy to see you.”

Dean turned and quickly took the rifle from the pretty petite blonde, but she punched him in the face and took it right back.

Dean called out to Sam saying he needed some help, but the only reply was Sam walking back through the kitchen door with his hands laced behind his head saying, “Sorry, Dean, I can’t right now, I’m a little tied up.”

Normally those words would bring to mind something kinky and fun to Dean’s twisted brain but seeing his little brother standing in front of a large handgun, completely dropped all thoughts other than his safety.

An older woman with darker hair had Sam right in her sights, but the threat didn’t last long because the woman quickly asked, “Sam, Dean?  Winchester?”

Both men said “Yeah,” in tandem.

She laughed telling the younger woman that she thought these were John Winchester’s boys and introduced herself as Ellen and that the younger woman was her daughter Jo.

They talked for a while and Ellen told the boys John used to be like family a long time ago, but then the conversation turned towards John’s death.  The boys asked her what she had meant by saying she could help their dad. Ellen confirmed that she had been calling about the demon, but that she couldn’t really help with that but Ash could.  

She yelled at the man in the back of the bar and at the sound of his name he came to, grunting and flailing around on the table, propping himself up asking if it was closing time.

Sam sat at the bar and Dean hovered aggressively next to him.  He was extremely skeptical that Jo had said Ash was a genius.  Dean thought he looked more like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie and said so.  Ash took no offence, even saying he liked Dean, which warmed Dean up enough for him to sit down. 

Jo told him to just give Ash a chance so Dean slid over the binder of their dad’s stuff they had brought with them, challenging Ash to see what he could make of it.  His mullet covered head bowed over the papers for a few seconds and then he looked at the Winchester’s saying in disbelief that these couldn’t be real, that no one could track a demon like this.

Sam stated emphatically that their dad could.  Ash told them it would take him fifty one hours to go through all the stuff and set up a way to track the demon with it.  The boys weren’t sure what to do to pass the time.  Sam asked Ellen about the folder that had the words ‘murder and left alive’ where he could see it propped next to a police scanner. She retrieved it and told him she was going to give it to a friend but he could take a look if he wanted.

Dean went over to a table near the window and asked Jo how her mom got into all this stuff.  Jo told him her dad had been a hunter but had died when she was just a kid.  He told her he had fifty one hours to waste and began to ask if she wanted to do anything tonight, but then he realized his heart wasn’t in it.  He hadn’t hooked up with anyone in a while and when his longing for Sam got bad, he usually used a pretty blond like Jo to try to get it out of his system first thing. 

He had been having a lot of trouble this week. Yes he was missing his dad, and feeling incredibly guilty over his dad’s death.  But the secret his dad had told him was weighing heavy on his heart, making him feel even worse about the way his eyes roamed over Sam every time he was near.  Being at Bobby’s with no case to focus on, even working on Baby, wasn’t freeing his mind from thoughts of Sam.

He wanted his brother in the worst way, and he had tried to stay as far away from him since the night they burned their dad’s body as possible.  That night he had longed to hold Sam, to wipe away the tears that had been flowing freely down his beautiful face.  He wanted to comfort Sam, to rock him like he used to as a child, but then do all kinds of things to him that he had no business wanting.

Something had made his need worse this week.  He had no clue what it was, at first he thought it was how vulnerable they both were from having to watch John burn.  His brother had been exceptionally open that night, his face gorgeous in the flickering light from the flames.  Dean had spent a good deal of that night berating himself for thinking Sam seemed radiant, which was ten thousand kinds of wrong since the flames were from his father’s pyre, and the tears that were making Sam’s eyes gleam even more intensely than normal were grief filled.  _What was wrong with him?_   How could he stand there in that place with his brother full of mourning and yet think how badly he wanted him?  Dean knew he was a monster.

The fact that his father thought Sam could go bad, that was ridiculous.  Dean was the one with the hell bound soul, not Sam.  Sam was good and pure and everything Dean could only ever strive to be.

But it wasn’t just that night that had made it worse, something kept spinning around inside his mind, like an echo of something he was missing, some fact or knowledge that was just out of reach, almost like a ghost whispering in his heart, dark mysteries that had happened while he was in a coma.  They all sounded like Sam, but he had no clue what any of it meant, he just knew his heart was aching over it.  He needed Sam in the worst way, which was why he had initially thought to go hook up with this Jo.

But as she stood there, being everything he would usually go for, he felt Sam off to his left, and just couldn’t do it.  He told her, “Oh, you know what, never mind.”

When she asked what he meant he said, “Nothing,”

His eyes cut to the left for just a split second to where Sam sat hunkered over the bar, and he could come up with no good excuse.  His voice sounded disheartened when he said, “Just wrong place, wrong time.”

She called him on it, saying that she thought he was going to be like most hunters who believed they could easily get in her pants with just pizza and Zepplin. 

Before he could attempt a snappy comeback, Sam called him over to the bar.  He informed Dean that he had found a potential case to take up their time while they waited for Ash to get done.

The men set out on the road in the crappy van, and it put Dean in a weird mood.  On the one hand he was happy to have a case to focus on, but on the other he was feeling frustrated having to drive this horrible vehicle, and having Sam this close, was wearing on his nerves, so he began teasing Sam about his fear of clowns.  He couldn’t believe his luck to have this case be something he could needle Sam with. 

Sam didn’t seem to be in any better spirits than Dean.  He hated clowns, always had, and for Dean to use that against him in this case, when the clown factor already had him on edge as it was, just ground on his nerves.  He was frustrated because it seemed like they would be on the hunt for some kind of cursed object since the killings seemed to travel around with the circus.  So that would be nearly impossible to find out what it could be.  He didn’t like this case, not one bit, and he really didn’t like Dean teasing him. 

Sam hated how much his heart was beating fast every time he looked at Dean’s forehead and saw the scar that only a week ago he had run his fingers across, looked into the face he had confessed his love to, but it stared back at him unknowingly ignorant of all that.

Dean asked Sam why he had picked this case, explaining he was surprised that Sam wasn’t insisting that they focus their energy only on the demon and not take any other cases.  He didn’t understand what had changed.

Sam said he thought their dad would have wanted them to take the case.  That caught Dean off guard.  Sam wanting them to do something their dad would have wanted made Dean feel like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone.

They pulled up to the Cooper Carnival, only to discover police already there.  Evidently there had been another set of murders the night before.  Another child was left witness stating that a clown had killed his parents and had then vanished.

Sam was freaked out, even by the clowns not in makeup.  Dean didn’t ride him as hard as he normally would, because he could see his brother really was bothered by all this.  They decided the best way to go was to try to blend in and luckily there was a help wanted sign at just the right moment.

They found their way to the manager’s office after Dean almost got himself into trouble in a ‘Who’s on First’ sort of way with a blind knife thrower and a tough guy of incredibly short stature.  The owner quickly saw through their lie about having worked the carnival circuit before and told them they should go to school and live regular with a couple of wives and kids.

Dean was about to slide into his smooth talking skills when Sam leaned forward and with a completely serious face said, “Sir, we don’t want to go to school, and we don’t want regular.  We want this.”

Dean sat back and gave his brother the side eye for the rest of the hiring spiel.  Once they were finished and sent on their way Dean asked his brother what all that ‘not wanting to go back to school’ thing was all about, if he was just saying it to dupe the boss, or if he really meant it. 

Dean didn’t want to get his hopes up.  His heart couldn’t take anymore after losing their dad, and seeing Sam so raw all week.  Dean didn’t want to believe Sam could want this life, with him, if there was any chance it wasn’t true.

Sam kept walking, not really looking at Dean, staring off into the distance quietly.  Dean’s impatience couldn’t wait so he said, “Sam?”

Sam answered with a heavy heart.  “I don’t know.”

Dean tried but failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings, that you were gonna take off, head back to wussy state.”

Sam turned to Dean, low frustration and fear caused his voice to sound almost angry when he said, “I’m having second thoughts.”

He knew he should leave Dean.  He should have left him the morning after they buried his father.  If the demon was truly after Sam, then the safest place Dean could be was far away from him.  And it was always safer for Dean to be away from Sam just because of Sam.  If Dean’s almost dying proved anything, it was that Sam couldn’t be trusted to not tell Dean his true feelings.  It would break them both if he ever did and he didn’t want that, but ever since he had said those words out loud it was like an addiction, his tongue and lips knew they could form those words now, and that was all they ever wanted to say, all his heart ever wanted to say, and Sam had lived in fear ever since, because he didn’t know how long he could keep up the ‘good brother that doesn’t want to have sex with Dean’ façade anymore.

He shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t find the strength or courage to leave.  So he blamed it all on his dad.  Following what his dad would want was a safe thing to focus on, somehow paying penance for not doing what John wanted while he was alive, if he could just keep his dad in his thoughts, maybe he would help Sam to be good.

He tried to explain that safe part to Dean, about wanting to do what Dad would have wanted, but instead of making Dean happy, his brother attacked him.  Asking, “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted?  You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn’t want, Sam.”

He spit back at Dean in confusion, “Since he died, okay.” 

Sam didn’t understand Dean’s anger.  All Dean had ever wanted was for Sam to respect their dad and follow his orders, to hunt with them, and now Sam was giving him what he wanted and Dean was mad.   He stared at his brother bewildered.

Dean didn’t really understand his own anger, only that he wanted Sam to stay for him, not because their dad would have wanted it.  He didn’t want to be something Sam settled for.  That felt worse than Sam walking away. At least if Sam went back to school it would make Sam happy.  But to stay with Dean out of obligation to their dead dad, that just made Dean feel rotten and worthless and miserable.

Sam’s forehead furrowed as he asked, “You have a problem with that?”

Dean stared back at Sam, conflicting emotions ripping through his already worn out soul.  He looked away bitterly and then put on a fake grin as he lied sarcastically, “No, I don’t have a problem at all.”

Dean walked away from Sam and tried to get his head focused back on the case at hand.

Both men hid emf detectors in the pockets of their uniform jackets, using them to check the park as they cleaned.  Sam went into the funhouse to check things out and came up empty, but he had seen some bones in there that made him think maybe it wasn’t a cursed object but a haunting due to possible human remains.  He called Dean to inform him of his idea and Dean told him he would come to him.

Dean got waylaid by the blind man who had overheard his phone call about the bones and asked Dean what he was really doing there.  Dean came up with a bogus line about writing books about a ghost there.

He had just managed to get away and get to Sam when they both overheard a little girl call out to her mom about a clown, but when the mother asked the girl about it, she said it disappeared.  The Winchesters followed the family home and while they sat outside waiting to see if the family was in danger, Dean informed Sam of what Papazian, the blind knife thrower, had said when he told him about the urban legend of the homicidal phantom clown.  He had informed Dean that Cooper, the owner of the current carnival had worked for Bunker Brothers, the first carnival Sam had discovered that had the same instances of murders back in the 1980s.

The boys discussed it and realized that maybe whatever the spirit was attached to, it had come with Cooper from the first carnival to this current one.

They chitchatted a little more about the case, but a heavy silence settled between them eventually.  They were both conflicted inside for similar reasons, but neither realized it. 

Dean fell into a fitful sleep against the window, and Sam couldn’t help but look over at him, with guilt in his heart and lust in his soul.  Dean was on guard so much now, not due to the horrible things they hunted but because of his inability to deal with his own emotions.  It was rare that Sam got to just sit and look at him when he seemed this open, this vulnerable.  Sam was disappointed Dean had been turned away when he fell asleep because that left him with only a side view of his beautiful features, but Sam drank them in, like the parched man he was.  His thirst for his brother overwhelmed him under the best of circumstances, but now, it seemed to have grown exponentially. 

He had been lost in thought so deeply about Dean that it took a moment, for the light in the window of the house they were staking out, to break through his reverie.  As soon as he realized the young girl was walking through the house alone, he hit Dean in the chest to wake him up.

They snuck inside the house and waited for just the right moment.  Sam grabbed the girl and Dean shot the clown with rock salt.  It didn’t disappear as a normal spirit would, falling hard onto the floor instead, but then it got back up. Dean would have shot it again, but the thing launched itself at the door, busting through the glass before disappearing.

The girl’s parents came bolting down the stairs and wrongly assumed the boys were trying to hurt her.  They made their escape and fled the scene.

They found a place to dump the van in case the parents saw their plates as they drove away.  Dean didn’t mourn the loss in the slightest.  They gathered all their belongings and took off on foot down the road back towards the carnival.

As they walked they discussed the fact that the monster wasn’t a spirit.  The rock salt had hit something solid.  They weren’t sure if it was human or some other thing that could make itself invisible somehow, but they had no clue about what it was.  Sam took out his phone to call Ellen, hoping she or Ash might have some idea what it could be.  He looked over at Dean and asked if he thought that their dad and Ellen had ever had a thing.  Dean quickly denied it, but Sam asked if not, then why hadn’t their dad ever mentioned her. 

Dean suggested maybe they had had a falling out.  Sam laughed and asked, “You ever notice, Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

Dean didn’t answer, he just kept walking, looking off into the distance unhappily.

Sam hung up the phone and said, “Don’t get all maudlin on me, man.”

Dean asked defensively, “Whaddya mean?”

Sam’s tone got abruptly hostile, “I mean this strong silent thing of yours.  It’s crap, I’m over it.”

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed unhappily, “Oh, God.”

Sam continued to berate Dean, explaining that this wasn’t just anyone they had lost, it was dad.  He frustratedly insisted, “I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean had had enough.  His nerves were frayed and he just couldn’t handle Sam right then.  He snapped, saying, “Back off, all right?”

His nerves felt like Sam had scraped them with sandpaper.  “Just because I’m not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam cut in, saying adamantly, “No, no, no, that’s not what this is about, Dean.”

He had to get Dean to listen.  His brother bottling up these emotions he was carrying wasn’t okay, it was starting to scare Sam.  Dean had a tendency to hold things in so long they exploded unexpectedly or even worse, turned self destructive.  Sam knew John’s death had to be eating away at Dean. John had been his idol, his everything for Dean’s entire life.  The loss had to be devastating.

It made Sam’s next statement come out harsher than he meant, “I don’t care how you deal with this, but you have to deal with it, man.”

Sam watched as Dean shook his head and his face formed into the defensive grin that he sometimes got before he ramped into anger.  Sam knew that path would lead to nothing good, so he tried a calmer approach, “Listen, I’m your brother, alright?  I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Dean had to rein in his temper, he was about to lose it and he knew by Sam’s tone, that Sam wasn’t doing very well, so he tried, but failed to harness all his frustration.  It slipped out anyway as he all but yelled, “Dude, I’m okay!  I’m okay!”

His voice grew gruff and loud as he exclaimed, “I swear the next person who asks me if I’m okay, I’m gonna start throwing punches.”

His anger got the better of him and he reverted into self protection deflection. “These are your issues.  Quit dumping them on me.”

Sam stopped in the middle of the road and asked in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Dean couldn’t stand the raw pain that was welling up inside himself.  First he loses his father, sure that his brother would walk away from him as soon as they found and killed the demon, only now to discover that because of their dad, Sam might actually stay with Dean, only to have it be from a sense of obligation. Which would ultimately lead to Sam resenting Dean, it was inevitable.  Pile on top of that, all of Dean’s feelings for Sam, feeling like there was something he was missing, and like any second he would let something slip about how bad he wanted Sam, how he hadn’t stopped dreaming that Sam told him he loved him every night since his dad died, only to wake up from the wondrous occurrence every morning to find it was all just mist and illusion.  He couldn’t take it, it all boiled over into vehemence.

“I just think it’s really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to dad.  It’s like, ‘oh, what would dad want me to do?’ You spent your entire life slugging it out with that man.  I mean hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he’s dead, you want to make it right?”

Dean saw how badly what he had just said hurt Sam, could read it in the way his face took on a soft broken quality, and his eyes looked down at Dean in disbelief.  Dean was on a tear and couldn’t stop himself, even as his heart was trying to rend itself into pieces to do just that, at the sight of the pain he had caused his beloved.

“Well, I’m sorry, Sam, but you can’t.  It’s too little too late.”

Sam stood in shock, feeling stabbed in the gut and heart and somewhere so deep there were no words to describe it.  His own guilt had been telling him the same thing all week that Dean had just viciously verbalized.  It cut him to the core and he barely had the strength to ask in a whisper, “Why are you saying this to me?”

Dean yelled into his face, “Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this.  I’m dealing with Dad’s death.  Are you?”

Sam stood in the resounding silence that fell after the outburst.  His eyes searched Dean’s for any ounce of compassion or caring, the things that usually shone brightly out of Dean’s visage any time the green of his eyes were focused this intently in Sam’s direction.  Sam swallowed hard upon seeing none.

All his life Dean had been his protector, his shield against every storm. Sam didn’t know how to handle this version of his brother. The harsh angry man that had stood against monsters and demons alike to defend Sam to the very edge of death and back, now having aimed his attack at Sam, who had no way, nor any desire to defend himself against the onslaught. 

Sam closed down, hid all his pain, guilt and emotional turmoil behind a shuttered mask and stated quietly, “I’m gonna call Ellen.”

He walked away, wanting nothing more than to find a cave and hide and weep for days.

Dean’s face was a harsh mask of his own as he watched Sam’s back move farther from him in the opposite direction.  He was bereft and couldn’t remember ever feeling more empty, and yet so full of swirling untamed emotion he had no idea how he would ever handle it.

He turned and hung his head, immediately regretting everything that had just happened.  He didn’t mean to hurt Sam, didn’t mean to lash out the way he had.  Guilt and anguish poured through his chest like lava engulfing a field, burning everything to fiery ash as it went.

Dean stood at the side of the road watching the long grasses blow in the breeze.  Sam approached from behind, keeping his voice even and focused on the case.  He told Dean that Ellen’s best guess was that the thing they were facing was a Rakshasa, explaining that it was a race of ancient Hindu creatures that appear in human form and feed on human flesh, able to make themselves invisible and cannot enter a home without first being invited.

The brothers stuck to the facts, both ignoring the emotional outburst, from mere moments before, and the fallout each were enduring silently from it.

They discussed the case, the fact that the Rakshasa only had to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years and the one individual who had been at both of the last known cases, Cooper, the owner of the current carnival.   Ellen’s legend had said that the thing lived in squalor on a bed of dead bugs, and a dagger made of pure brass was the only way to kill the thing.  Dean told Sam he thought he knew where to get one, but Sam insisted that they needed to make sure that Cooper was their guy before they tried to take him out.

Dean took the opportunity to try to mend the bridge between them in some small way, saying “Oh, you’re such a stickler for details, Sammy.”

The tone at the end, and the endearing name, would have been enough to melt some of the walls Sam had tried to build around his heart, but the way Dean cut his eyes up at him, as he walked beside Sam, it broke down all his barriers, causing his heart to feel warm, along with his nether region.  Sam couldn’t stop the laugh as it left him unbidden, from the release of the heavy weight pressing on his chest, causing his dimples to flare and his teeth to shine brightly in the overcast grey day.

Dean couldn’t maintain his view of the beautiful sight, his heart pounded in relief that his brother didn’t hate him for what he said.  He hid behind plans of attack for both of them to handle once they got back to the carnival.

Sam went to check Cooper’s bed to see if there were insects or any other proof that it was him, while Dean went to talk to Papazian to see if he could borrow a brass blade.  The man indicated Dean should check out the trunk near the doorway of his place, but Dean immediately knew he was in trouble because the first thing he saw in the box was the clown outfit.

The man turned invisible and began throwing knives at Dean, who used all his strength to bust through the locked door and run away.  He ran right past Sam who called out to him, informing him of the fact the monster wasn’t Cooper.  Dean gave him the bad news that he wasn’t able to procure any brass blades, but at least he knew who they needed to kill.

Sam led Dean into the funhouse, but the brothers were immediately separated by the tricks of the place.  Sam went for one of the brass steam whistles of the calliope he had seen earlier in the center of the maze.  He breathed a sigh of relief when Dean came around the corner into view.  Sam was having trouble breaking one of the brass tubes off, but not as much trouble as Dean began having when the monster threw two knives into his jacket pinning his right arm to the wooden door behind him.

Dean called out to Sam, who finally managed to break off a weapon.  Neither brother could see the Rakshasa which remained invisible, until Dean noticed a release valve just above his head, for the steam flowing through the calliope.  He reached up and pulled it, causing steam to billow out all around just as he had hoped. 

Dean saw a void in the fog behind Sam and he called out a warning.  Sam plunged the pointed end of the pipe backwards as hard as he could into the belly of the beast.  Sam turned and pushed with his forward momentum driving the metal further into the screaming invisible mass.

Dean reached up and turned off the steam, finally managing to pull the knives out of the wood, releasing himself from the wall.  He went to Sam’s side, and they both looked down at the bloody pipe and clothing left behind, but there was no Rakshasa to be seen.

They found their way back to the Roadhouse to see if Ash had any news.  He was still locked away in a back room so they told Ellen how the hunt had gone.  She provided both of them a beer and told them their dad would be proud of the good job they had done.

Jo was standing next to Dean and she gave Sam a pointed look.  It took him a moment to recognize it for what it was, and his heart dropped, causing his stomach to churn violently.  He began to stutter and look for any reason to get away, saying, “I.. I.. I’ve gotta go over there. Right now.”

He walked away, reluctantly leaving Dean alone at the bar with Jo.  Dean took a swig from his beer, and his head moved to look behind him for Sam, as a moth is drawn to a flame, but then he caught himself and eyed his beer as if he could find a solution to all his problems by reading the label.

Jo asked him if she would see him again, and he replied with a question of his own, asking if she wanted to.

She told him she wouldn’t hate it.

Dean asked if he could be honest with her, explaining, “Normally, I’d be hitting on you so fast it’d make your head spin, but uh, these days…”

He thought for a moment, these days he was finding it harder and harder to keep his hands off his brother and his heart kept telling him he needed to follow that through and take a leap of faith.  But he knew that was emotional suicide, that that would be the end to all that he held dear, so he wished for nothing more than an easy fall into Jo’s arms.  He couldn’t express any of that.

Instead he said, “These days…”

He shook his head staring down at his hands where they held the bottle, wishing they were holding his brother.  He couldn’t find any excuse that would make sense.  So he said, “I don’t know.”

She smiled at him and finished it for him, “Wrong place, wrong time?”

He was spared any further difficulties by Ash walking triumphantly from the back through the swinging door asking, “Where you guys been?  I been waiting for you.”

Sam yelled from across the bar where he was hovering next to the pool table, looking lost and forlorn, “We were working a case Ash. Clowns.”

Ash reacted as repulsed by that news as Sam had felt during the entire hunt.  He plopped down his hand built laptop on the bar and explained to the brothers that the demon wasn’t around at all, that he could find.  But he assured them that if it raised its head at all, he would know.  He told them that if it manifested anywhere in the world, thanks to the signs and omens John had tracked, his rig would go off and alert him.

Sam asked with curiosity and respect, clear in his voice, “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

He told Sam, with no bragging or bravado, that he had gone to M.I.T. before being kicked out for fighting.  Sam sat in stunned disbelief.

Dean was completely unimpressed by the news.  He had grown up in the shadow of Sam’s brilliance and John’s genius, so Ash’s brain held no sway for him.  He told Ash matter-of-factly to give them a call as soon as he knew something.

The boys stood up and made their way to the door.  Before they could leave, Ellen called out and told them she had a couple of bunks out back if they needed somewhere to stay.  Dean declined, informing her he had something he needed to finish.

Sam didn’t think about the importance of the fact that Dean didn’t even spare a glance at Jo as he turned to walk out, until later after they had gotten back to Bobby’s.  He didn’t know why Dean had turned down a sure thing, but it certainly seemed he had.  Sam couldn’t get the grin to leave his face.

Sam tried to control his heart, it could mean anything.  Dean was in mourning even if he wasn’t ready to admit it, their father’s death was weighing heavy on his brother, Sam could feel it every time he got close to Dean.  That had to be why Dean suddenly wasn’t hooking up when he had the chance. 

Sam berated himself mercilessly, for having even an ounce of hope it could mean something more, even if that hope had only lasted a second.  He couldn’t begin to go down that thought path.  It would lead only to his destruction.  There was no way Dean would ever have feelings for him in any way other than a brother, no matter how much Sam wanted him to, needed him to, longed with every breath for that to happen.

He was quiet that entire night, not knowing what to say to his brother.  He felt raw over their fight before, as well as gun shy for his own misguided, if fleeting, hope for some sign from Dean that he cared.

He tossed and turned all night, barely sleeping at all.  He went to find Dean to talk to him the next morning only to see the couch where he had been bunking was empty.  It was early morning and yet he could guess where Dean was already.  The same place he had spent hours the previous night, out with the Impala. 

Sam walked slowly out to where the car was parked.  Dean had done a magnificent job in just the short time they had been there.  The car was actually car shaped again, even if missing many important parts still.  Sam knew it wouldn’t take long for Dean to have the entire thing back to working order.  Dean was kneeling next to the passenger side rear tire where he was tightening the last lug nut, when Sam passed him to stand behind the Impala.

Sam stood looking down at Dean for a moment.  Not really sure what he was going to say.  But then he just admitted, “You were right.”

Dean stood up and asked, “About what?” as he circled behind Sam to get to the other side of the car.  There was a sadness in Sam’s tone that Dean wasn’t ready to hear or look at so he kept on working.

“About me and dad,” Sam watched his brother continue to move around.  His motion reminded Sam of a shark, unable to stop for any length of time, unwilling to stand still and face Sam’s desire for emotional connection. 

“I’m sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight.”

Dean couldn’t keep running.  He could tell his brother needed him, needed him to listen and bear witness.

So he stopped what he was doing, and faced Sam, bracing his hands on his own hips for support.

He watched as Sam fidgeted and didn’t keep eye contact with him. 

Sam’s voice was raw as if he had been crying, and his eyes looked puffy, backing up that theory.  His skin was pale in the bright morning light.

“I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him.  I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him.”

“So you’re right.”

Dean watched behind his calm mask, saw the moment Sam began to falter, his emotions beginning to pour out.  Dean wanted to close the distance, to put his arms around his kid brother and tell him it wasn’t true, that everything would be alright, that Dean would fix it.  But he kept Baby between them, a safe space, a distance between his desire and his vulnerable little brother.

He hated himself for needing to hold Sam, for thinking of all the ways he could comfort him instead of being a good big brother. 

Sam continued, none the wiser about the turmoil churning through Dean.

“What I’m doing right now, is too little.”  His nostrils flared and his lips quivered, as he made eye contact with Dean, finally holding it longer than a second before allowing it to flit away again.

Sam was full of pain, guilt and confusion over his father’s death.  He needed his brother, needed Dean to hold him and comfort him, but that made him feel even more guilty, even more disgusted by himself, than he did from failing his father in every way.

He finished his speech by saying, “It’s too late.”

He confessed, his voice shaking, “I miss him, man.”

Sam stared into the supernova that was his brother, hidden behind the calm strong exterior Dean was giving him in return.

He kept trying to look away but his eyes were drawn inextricably back over and over to Dean’s beautiful rugged countenance. 

Sam took in a few ragged breaths before saying, “And I feel guilty as hell.” 

The tears began to form, and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold them off, as he divulged the hardest, most dangerous part, “And I’m not all right.”

He shook his head emphasizing, “Not at all.”

He wanted to explain all the ways he wasn’t, all the ways he could never be, just make a blanket confession of all his sins, lay them at Dean’s feet, for an instant, he felt it boiling up, just behind his teeth.

Instead he just breathed in, and pulled all that back inside himself, refusing to blow up their brother bond for his own selfish needs. 

Sam looked directly at Dean and turned the tables, “But neither are you.  That much I know.”

Sam paused, hoping that Dean would engage, or say something, his face was practically begging for Dean to help him feel better. 

But when his brother’s stony countenance was all Sam was left with, he realized he had to take whatever Dean was willing to give, and at the moment he couldn’t manage anything for Sam around his own grief.

Sam said quietly, reluctantly, sadly, “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Dean had barely maintained his calm façade.  He looked down at Baby, the only home he had ever known, outside of his brother’s eyes, and cursed himself.  He cursed himself for not being strong enough to comfort Sam.  He couldn’t believe he let his poor brother bleed out his soul there in front of him and stood stock still.  But he had known, if he moved or said anything, he was completely sure all the obsessive love, desire and hateful twisted wrong things he felt for Sam would come flying out of his mouth riding on the back of his pain and loss of his father.  He was too raw, too damaged, to be able to keep it all inside any longer. 

It all wanted to come erupting out at the first sign of an opportunity.  And his brother’s open heart, his brother’s tear streaked face, shoulder’s bent in need of consolation, looked like the perfect opportunity for Dean to do anything and everything he had ever wanted, say it all out loud the way his soul longed to do.  He felt ragged and dangerous and knew he couldn’t trust himself around Sam this way, so he stood silent, like a sentinel, the last bastion holding back the poison that threatened to come out and engulf them both. 

Dean kept himself together just long enough for Sam to be out of his line of sight.  He walked over to pick up a crow bar from a group of tools.  He began to walk towards Baby and then turned back towards one of the damaged cars next to her and hit the driver’s side window with an angry swing. Glass shattered in a loud explosion.

It wasn’t enough, not by a mile.  He looked at the car he had put his blood sweat and tears into over the last week, and felt all the hate, he had for himself, pool up just behind his eyes, just under his skin, wracking every muscle in his body.  He began unleashing a flurry of vicious blows at his car, the one thing he loved almost as much as Sam, his only true possession in this world that meant anything and just let go. 

His fury raged and boiled, he hit the car’s trunk repeatedly, hurting his own heart as much as he was destroying the metal.  He wished he could cut out the wretched organ as easily as he could drive a hole into Baby’s trunk.

He had no clue how long the frenzy might have lasted, his pain showing no signs of letting up, but the crooked end of the crowbar got caught in the hole he had ripped in the trunk.  It disrupted his swing enough to throw his anger into a tailspin, causing him to drop the tool by his feet, where it clanged on the ground. 

He breathed hard and walked in a half circle, till he stopped facing off in the direction Sam had gone.  That was the problem, Sam would always be his true north, always where his compass would swing, no matter what.  The pain welling up inside Dean, from the loss of his father, and the unrequited wrongness of his love for his brother, swelled into a bitter and angry mound, with nowhere to turn except inward.  He felt the self loathing settle into his soul as he stared off into the distance following the invisible line to his other half.  His lip quivered and his chin shook as he swallowed hard, ingesting all the poison he had almost unleashed at his brother, back inside himself where it belonged. 

Sam had walked away, but had only made it far enough to collapse against a damaged RV when his brother’s eruption began.  He leaned his back against the hot metal, warmed by the sun’s rays, hot enough to burn through his shirt, not caring about the pain.  Tears streamed down his face as he tried but failed to calm the quaking of his body that wouldn’t seem to stop.  His shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of metal on metal as Dean pounded away at the car he loved.  Even now, though the sound had faded, Sam’s heart beat with the forlorn pattern it left behind, heavy in the air with distraught emotions. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the late update. I got so used to being able to get one story out every day that I got spoiled. Work is much busier, but I am trying to write as much as I can to keep the series flowing. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support and kudos. You all make my day brighter with your comments and kind words!!


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